Beyond the Waking Sea
by Pumpernickel
Summary: Kaye Cousland and Nathaniel Howe have every reason to hate each other. It would be easier if they did. It's just that some feelings are hard to leave in the past. Rated M just in case. [Language and a wee bit o' sexing.] - NOTE: Sorry for the lack of update, I've been on vacation with no wifi access. Update coming soon!
1. Howe's Little Blighter

_Authors Note: I've had this one in my head since I first played Awakenings, and finally got around to publishing. The first chapter is just an intro, please read through Chapter 2 before deciding whether or not to continue. And as always, criticism is welcome - it's been years since I last wrote a fic and I know I'm rusty. =]_

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Part of me didn't believe I was actually considering allowing Nathaniel Howe to join the Grey Wardens, under my direct command. I could scarcely believe I'd let him out of that prison cell alive in the first place. I mean, I'd already set a precedent for letting men who made attempts on my life go free, but there was one important difference between my two would-be assassins – Zev was just a blade-for-hire. With Nathaniel, it was personal.

He wanted me dead, and I suppose I didn't blame him. I _did _kill his father, without a shred of mercy or regret. So he was after me for vengeance, and I couldn't fault him for that – not after I'd exacted my own vengeance just a few months ago. Nathaniel needed to get his past resolved so he could move forward, and I empathized with that. So even though I knew he would likely try to murder me again, I let him go.

In retrospect that probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done, but I just couldn't bring myself to kill him. No matter how bitter, spiteful, resentful and cold he'd become…he was still Nathaniel. He still had the same smoky grey eyes and gravelly voice that I remembered so clearly. Somewhere, buried deep within that hardened man was the sweet, thoughtful boy I had adored so many years ago. His radical personality changes and murderous intentions weren't enough to make me want to end his life. At least, not yet.

Of course, they didn't exactly make me_ like_ him either. As he left Vigil's Keep with his family's things, I silently hoped that I would never see Nathaniel Howe again.

So, predictably, less than a week later he shows up, demanding to know why I let him go. He was pushing my generosity, and I told him so, but he just flashed a confident little smirk that said better than words that he thought he could take me in a fight. I was sorely tempted to prove him wrong – until he asked to join the Grey Wardens, throwing me off my game completely.

I didn't want anything to do with Nathaniel Howe. I didn't want to be his commander, or his comrade-in-arms, or his friend. I just wanted him to go away so I could forget he even existed. But personal feelings aside…we have_ talking darkspawn_ to deal with, and only three active Grey Wardens in the country. We needed more men, and for all his faults Nathaniel could hold his own in a fight if it took four Wardens to bring him down. If he were any other man, I'd recruit him in a heartbeat.

I frowned, eying the bow strapped to his back. "Are you any good with that thing?"

The corner of his mouth twitched into that infuriating smirk once again as he drew the weapon and an arrow from the quiver next to it. I reached for my daggers reflexively, but before I had decided whether or not to draw them I heard the soft _thwip_ of an arrow flying past me. I glared at him, but he just raised his eyebrows, nodding towards a point over my shoulder. I turned to follow his gaze, and there, at least a hundred paces downfield, was a scarecrow with an arrow sticking out of its head.

"Of course you are," I said, heaving a giant sigh. The practical leader in me couldn't turn down a capable soldier when we were so shorthanded, no matter how badly I wanted to. Especially someone who was a good shot. I _sucked_ with a bow.

"Don't try anything, or I'll gut you faster than a nug in Dust Town," I grumbled, ignoring my self-preservation instincts and better judgment. "Let's go."

I started off at a brisk pace, not slowing even as Oghren had to jog to catch up with me. I was normally more considerate of his shorter stride, but recent events had left me too irritated to care about being polite.

"Careful Kaye, this one might just go all Zevran on you," Oghren warned, disapproval evident in his voice.

"Let's just hope if he does it's the assassin part, and not the overeager sexual deviant part," I deadpanned.

Oghren laughed and fell back to where Anders and Nathaniel were lagging behind. He was so easy to please sometimes.

"So, you're Rendon Howe's little blighter…" Oghren said, the irony of the situation evident in his voice.

I turned towards Vigil's Keep, eager to get the Joining underway. Hopefully the taint would put Nathaniel Howe out of my misery.


	2. Ambushed

I dashed across the vegetable field, plowing through a cluster of genlocks without slowing down enough to take a swipe at them. I didn't have time to attack small game like them, or the shriek that was right on my tail. I had bigger problems to contend with.

Like the ogre that had backed Anders up against the barn wall.

I stumbled as I felt the searing pain of a claw slashing across my left shoulder blade, barely catching myself with an outstretched hand before my face met the dirt. Leather armor couldn't hold against shrieks, and as soon as I hit the ground I rolled to my right to evade the follow up attack I knew would come. Darkspawn were nothing if not persistent.

I heard the distinctive crackling of a fire arrow soar past, and the high pitched squeal of a wounded shriek immediately following. I whipped my head around in time to see Nathaniel pump a second arrow into the darkspawn, who fell down dead in the dirt beside me.

My relieved gratitude was instantly overshadowed by the cold dread that settled over me when I remembered why I'd been running. Without another glance behind me, I bolted to my feet, ignoring the raging fire across my back. My wound was a trivial nick compared to what would happen to Anders in a couple seconds, and that thought sent my blood boiling – Nathaniel should have been helping him, not me!

"Shoot the _ogre_!" I screamed as the beast wrapped its thick fingers around Anders. I wasn't going to make it, it was going to crush him, he was _right there_ and I was _too slow_…

Anders cried out, a strangled, agonized sound, and my stomach churned in response. Shit, shit, _shit!_

I reached the waist-high fence surrounding the field and slammed my hands down on it, pushing myself up in one swift movement. My first instinct was to just hurdle it, but I planted my feet on the top rung instead, bracing to jump. An arrow nailed the ogre in the arm that held Anders, and when it roared and let go of him Anders fell to a crumpled heap on the ground, the spell he'd been trying to cast flickering out and dying in his hands.

My heart stopped in my chest. Anders was dead. I was too late. For one gut-wrenching moment time stood still and my whole world narrowed to the image of his body lying motionless in the dirt. Then my vision ran red, and an enraged scream tore from my throat as I leapt at the ogre, lost to everything but the need to tear that son of a bitch apart with my bare hands.

I landed hard, slamming my daggers deep into the ogre's back with all my weight behind them. The beast roared and staggered forward, nearly crashing through the side of the barn. I reached up and grabbed one of its horns, yanking its head back sharply to plunge my dagger into the soft, meaty tissue of its neck. I dragged my blade along its throat, splitting it wide until I heard the satisfying gurgle of the bastard choking on its own blood.

There was a loud snap as a thick cord of tendon and muscle gave way, and suddenly the ogre's head lolled backwards, pulled down forcefully by my weight hanging from it. I felt a jarring crack reverberate through my entire arm before I went tumbling backwards off of the limp darkspawn, smacking my head painfully on the edge of the fence as I fell.

Stars exploded before my eyes, and as I struggled to stay conscious everything went slow and blurry, like I'd had too many mugs of ale and too few hours of sleep. I watched, dazed, as the headless body of the ogre dropped a second after I did, falling away from Anders. _Good, _I thought idly, _it didn't crush him._

I heard yelling and fighting, but it sounded far away, like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel, and I couldn't seem to remember why it was important that I get back up. My hand tightened on the hilt of my dagger, but it felt wrong – too smooth, too warm – and when I mustered up the will to glance down, I saw that it wasn't my dagger after all. It was a horn. And attached to the horn was the decapitated head of the ogre I just killed.

That grisly visage snapped me out of it, fast. I scrambled to my feet, gripping the fence for balance when the world started to spin in protest to the sudden movement. I squeezed my eyes shut for a count of two, and when I opened them again I was face to face with a hurlock raising his sword, a sharp-toothed grin plastered on his face.

So I did what any unarmed lady would do when facing an attacker. I kicked him in the groin. _Hard._

The hurlock grunted and doubled over, and I silently thanked the Maker that male darkspawn appeared to have the same…equipment…as other males. I glanced around for a weapon, but my daggers were too far away, and he was getting up…

I caught a glimpse of the ogre head to my left, and with a burst of intuition, hefted it up and drove the sharp horn through the hurlock's chest like a spear. His eyes went wide with surprise, and before he even hit the ground I relieved him of his weapon, spinning around in a quick circle for sign of any more surprise attackers. Everything looked clear – Oghren was dispatching the last of the shrieks, and though I didn't see Nathaniel I wasn't too worried about him. I was used to traveling with assassins.

With a heavy heart I finally turned to the barn, and gasped when I saw Anders struggling to sit up against the wall. Relief flooded through me and I hurried over to help, examining him with a practiced eye for any serious wounds. He appeared to be fine, and it scared me – that meant his injuries were internal, and way harder to heal.

"Andraste's flaming tits…remind me never to piss you off," he said with a weak smile. He groaned with pain when I put my hand under his arm to steady him, and I pulled back anxiously.

"What? What hurts?"

"Everything," he muttered with a grimace, "but mostly my ribs. I think they're broken."

"Shit Anders, I can't fix _ribs._ Can you?"

"Yeah...yeah I think so. Here, help me out of my robes."

He had to be hurting if he managed to say that with a straight face, I thought as I set to work on the ties. It took some maneuvering and a couple frustrated rips of the cloth – seriously, who designed these things anyway? – but eventually I was able to get the upper half of his robe undone. When the fabric pooled around his waist, I couldn't help the horrified gasp that escaped from my throat.

The entire right side of his chest was a mass of angry red and purple bruises, stretching from his hip to his armpit. At least half of the ribs were broken, as evidenced by the way his torso seemed sunken in and deflated, and there was a steady flow of blood from where one rib had pierced through the skin.

Looking at his broken, mangled body…I honestly didn't know how he was still alive. And by the sudden terror that shot across his face when he gazed down on himself, I'd say he didn't know either.

I wasn't normally the praying sort, but I sent a quick plea to the Maker as Anders pressed one shaking hand against his ribcage, murmuring an incantation under his breath. The healing glow began to spread along the worst of his injuries, but before any real progress could be made it faltered and blinked out.

"I can't concentrate..." he winced, sounding dangerously close to unconsciousness.

For the briefest moment I had absolutely no idea what to do. We were half a day's walk from the Keep, Anders was our only mage, and potions wouldn't even touch the damage he'd sustained.

But they'd keep him conscious, and numb the pain enough to let him cast...

I stood quickly, turning to run for our supply pack...and slammed right into Nathaniel standing just behind me. He grabbed my arm to steady me, and then leaned down to hand a small, blue vial to Anders.

"He needs elfroot, not lyrium," I said, shaking my head. Nathaniel gave me one of his trademark you-don't-know-what-the-hell-you're-talking-about looks, and I snatched the pack from him, the anger from earlier coming back threefold. "So he doesn't pass out from the pain. In case you didn't notice, he's looking a little worse for wear, thanks to you."

"Thanks to me?" Nathaniel said incredulously. "_I _certainly didn't do this to him!"

I rummaged impatiently through the bag – ice salves, acid flasks, enough lyrium to turn a dozen templars into raging junkies...

"Well maybe if you had been keeping an eye on him, this wouldn't have happened."

"Keeping an eye on him? What is he, a six-year-old girl?"

"No, he's a _mage,_" I shot back, dumping the pack upside down in frustration. "The most vulnerable member of our group. Robes might do wonders for spellpower, but they don't exactly stand up to a pissed off ogre."

Nathaniel stared at me with a mixture of disbelief and irritation. "That shriek was going to kill you! You're telling me I should have let you die?"

Part of me said I was overreacting. Anders was going to be okay, and Nathaniel _had _saved my life – logically, I should be grateful. But I still couldn't shake that utter devastation I'd felt when I thought Anders had been killed – and the cold certainty that in another two seconds he really would have been – and it made me angry that we'd failed him so thoroughly. If Nathaniel would have been watching Anders' back instead of mine, the poor guy wouldn't be writhing in agony right now. I'd have survived the shriek. Probably.

"If our mage dies, we all die," I said, finally spotting a red vial of elfroot potion. I popped the cork off and held it up to Anders' lips, watching the pained creases on his face smooth out almost instantly as he choked down the viscous liquid. Elfroot – tastes horrible, works like a charm.

I turned back to Nathaniel. "So in the interest of staying alive, do us all a favor and keep our enemies off of him."

Nathaniel crossed his arms defiantly. "Isn't that Oghren's job?"

"You don't even want to go there, you fairy-haired daddy's boy," Oghren growled from behind us, wiping a spatter of darkspawn blood from his face. It mostly just smeared.

I shot Nathaniel a dark look, getting to my feet. "Yeah, it is Oghren's job. But when Oghren has three shrieks riding him harder than a drunk Antivan nympho, babysitting the mage becomes _our _job. No offense, Anders," I added quickly, but he just hummed it off, too focused on magicking his bones together to care about my poor choice of words.

"A drunk Antivan nympho, huh? Sounds like my kinda lady," Oghren grunted in amusement. I pointedly ignored him – I was _not _in the mood.

"Well if it's _our_ job to watch him," Nathaniel retorted, "then why are you bitching at_ me?_"

"Because _I _use daggers," I said, taking a threatening step towards him as I mocked his tone, "and _you _use a bow. Pretty sure you can turn, aim, and fire faster than I can run across the entire battlefield."

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed, but he didn't flinch away, though I was only inches from him now. "Then maybe _you_ should rethink your choice of weaponry," he said, voice dripping with condescension.

"Or maybe _you_ should keep your eye on the fucking mage!" I screamed in his face, my clenched fists trembling with the urge to take my anger out violently. Anders almost died today, and Nathaniel was trying to argue that somehow he didn't make a mistake? That stupid, arrogant,_ infuriating_...

We glared at each other for a long moment, neither looking away, neither backing down. The tension was so thick you could choke on it, where the slightest spark would turn things really ugly, really fast. I started to mentally calculate my odds of winning, should it come to blows. He was stronger, but I was faster. He had reach, but I had flexibility...

"You know, you two fight like an old married couple."

"_Shut up Oghren!" _we both yelled at the same time, glaring at him and then at each other. Oghren began to laugh, that ridiculous drunken ape chortle that always sent me into a bout of giggles myself – except this time I was too angry to laugh with him and settled for a flushed face instead.

"Well, if you're both about done flirting with each other, I say we haul ol' sparkle-fingers back to the Keep before any more darkspawn try to snack on him."

I glanced reluctantly at Anders, hating to be the one to back down from the standoff first…but his health was more important than my pride, I reminded myself. He was slumped over, knocked out from the pain and exertion. The bruises were still there, though significantly improved, and I reached down to gently press my fingers along the side of his chest, feeling for anything out of place. His skin was clammy but he felt strong and whole, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I draped my traveling cloak over him.

"Burn the bodies before the wolves come – the last thing I need is blighted wildlife rampaging through the countryside," I said, turning back to my companions. "I'm going to go scout ahead. I'll signal you when it's safe to bring Anders."

With that I turned on my heel and marched off purposefully towards the road, grabbing my daggers on the way. Part of me hoped there were just a few more darkspawn lurking along the path to Vigil's Keep. I really, _really_ needed to kill something.


	3. A Start

"So…married to the king, huh?"

"Yep," Kaye replied, not caring to hide the annoyance in her voice. She didn't even look up from the vambrace she was cleaning, and I had to suppress a sigh. She didn't want to talk to me, and I guess I couldn't blame her. Whether the Couslands had deserved it or not was up for debate, but the fact remained that my father _had_ killed her family, and I'd apologized for it by trying to kill her too.

But she spared me in the end, giving me my family's trinkets and letting me go. Even letting me join her order to try to do some good with my ruined life, once I swallowed enough pride to ask. I still didn't really understand why, especially since it's obvious she has no love for me or mine, and that made me uncommonly curious. I found myself wondering about her more and more as we traveled together. She was so different from the shy girl I remembered, and I couldn't seem to get a hold on her now. I didn't understand her motivations, how she came to the conclusions she did, and it drove me crazy.

I wanted to _know _her. Like I used to. So I kept talking, despite her apparent desire to have nothing to do with me.

"So, what's it like?" I asked.

"Being queen? It's alright. Better than having that backstabbing, power-hungry _bitch_ running Ferelden into the ground." She made a face and shook her head, scrubbing the leather harder.

Huh. I assumed she was talking about Queen – err, former Queen – Anora, and wondered what she had done to deserve such vehemence. I had enough sense to realize it was a long story though, and one that would just irritate Kaye to tell. Wisely, I avoided the subject.

"No, not that…I meant what's it like to be married?"

She finally looked up at that, one eyebrow raised as she searched my face for something. I didn't know what that something was, but I guess she found it, because she put the vambrace down and turned to face me.

"It's…better than I expected, I suppose. Alistair is a great guy, and we get along really well."

"Yet somehow you don't sound very happy."

She frowned at that, pulling her knees up to rest her chin on them. I almost smiled at the sudden familiarity of it – she used to sit like that all the time when we were kids. "I'm not _un_happy_, _I'm just…I don't know," she sighed. "I used to fight with my mother constantly because I didn't want a political marriage, and then as soon as she's gone I go and sign myself up for one."

"So you're unhappy because you don't love your husband." Finally, something I could understand.

"_I'm not unhappy_," she reiterated impatiently. "And I do love him – in a way. He's one of my very best friends, he's had my back more times than I can count, he's witty and charming and ridiculously good looking…so of course I love him. I'm just not _in love _with him. You know?"

I didn't, actually. I didn't have much experience with love, certainly not enough to differentiate the nuances between "love" and "in love"…but I wasn't about to admit that, so I just nodded. "My grandmother always said that you eventually learn to love the person you marry. It never worked for my parents, but maybe you'll have better luck."

"Nah. Alistair's already in love with someone else," she said nonchalantly. I raised my eyebrows at that and, to my great surprise, she grinned. "A mage we picked up at the Circle Tower when it was overrun with abominations. She wanted to help fight, and we were more than happy to let her. Pretty little thing, throws a wicked fireball."

"So she's the King's…mistress? And you're okay with that?" I said, stunned. Maybe it was just me, but that seemed so…slimy. So wrong. It was one thing for a king to have his women, but to be open with his wife about it? And for her to accept his indiscretions? Again I was reminded of how I just couldn't grasp her line of thinking.

Kaye just shrugged, no trace of distress on her features whatsoever. "Why wouldn't I be? Neria is my friend, not some scummy whore eager to get knocked up by the king. They're happy together, and I'm happy for them. Really, the only reason I'm in the picture at all is because Ferelden won't accept an elf in the nobility, let alone as queen. Which is stupid, by the way."

I agreed, but still. "So…why even marry then? Why doesn't the King rule alone?"

"Because he needs to at least pretend to be trying for heirs. It'll never happen of course, with the darkspawn taint and all, but no one outside the Wardens knows about that. And even when the nobility eventually suspects that I'm barren, they still won't have the gall to demand he take another wife." She smirked. "Being the Hero of Ferelden has a few perks to it."

"And it doesn't bother you to…you know, share?"

"Share…what?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in confusion.

"…in bed?" I clarified, wincing. I really didn't want to get into a discussion of my monarch's bedroom politics, but the idea that Kaye was willingly allowing herself to be used that way bothered me more than I cared to admit.

"Oh! Oh, no," she said quickly, face turning crimson. "Alistair and I don't…we're, um, married in name only."

"I…oh," I said lamely, feeling like a fool for bringing any of this up. It was none of my business who she was sleeping with – or _not _sleeping with, in this case. "I just assumed that if you're trying for heirs…"

"We're _pretending _to try for heirs," she explained. "We sleep in the same bed twice a week to stifle any rumors, but we don't actually_ do _anything."

She paused for a moment and then grinned. "You know, faking sex is more fun than you'd expect. Three vases have fallen victim to the throes of our mock lovemaking already."

The mental picture of Kaye and King Alistair jumping on the bed in their smallclothes, knocking over vases and feigning cries of passion was so ridiculous that I couldn't help it – I burst into laughter. Kaye blinked at me like I'd just sprouted a second head, but then she began to laugh too.

It felt…good. To laugh with her.

"Besides," she began, sobering up enough to talk, "even if Alistair and I could have children together, I wouldn't want to come between him and Neria. Honestly, they're so in love it's almost sickening," she chuckled, shaking her head indulgently.

Her eyes went distant then, and a strange smile crossed her face as our laughter tapered off to silence. When she spoke again her voice was low and thoughtful. "If you ever marry, Nate, do it for love or not at all. Marriage without love is a very lonely thing."

Her eyes locked with mine for a long moment, the hint of laughter on her face fading away as the seconds ticked by. I got the feeling she was trying to tell me something, but before I could figure out what it was she glanced away, picking up her vambrace once again. Conversation over, I suppose.

Marrying for love…it was all good in theory, but I just didn't see it happening for me. I didn't see marriage in my future at all, really. That whole social pariah thing kind of made it difficult to build a rapport with the ladies, though to be fair I probably wouldn't have had much luck regardless. I left for the Free Marches when I was eighteen, was fighting during the years a man normally chases skirts, and that left me at a distinct disadvantage. I'd been with women, of course, but it was always just physical – and now I was 26 years old and didn't know how to treat a woman. How to love someone romantically.

Except, well…

That didn't matter now, I reminded myself sternly. That was a very long time ago, and too much has changed. No point in dwelling on the past.

I turned back to my own task – sharpening my daggers. I preferred the bow, but enough time in the field teaches you that there is nothing more important to carry than a good blade. I carried three – two for battle, and a smaller one tucked into my boot, just in case.

We worked in silence for a while, only the sounds of our chores disturbing the quiet night. Second watch was my favorite. I was more productive in the morning without the bleary eyes and rumbling stomach first watch left me with.

Kaye seemed to like it best too – she always chose it, anyway. She liked to watch the sun rise, so that probably explained it. Or she just wanted to be awake when I was, in case I decided to kill her in her sleep. Either way, it meant every night we didn't make it to the Keep or an inn was a night spent in tense silences and stunted conversations. Me, Kaye, and the painful truths between us.

"Anyway, speaking of political marriages…" she began breezily, and I flinched as her voice broke the utter quiet of night. The spastic movement sent the newly sharpened edge of my dagger biting into the palm of my hand. I sucked in a quick breath through my teeth to keep from cursing in front of a lady…but _Maker_ did that sting. I opened my fist to look at the damage – a thin red line that, when I took the pressure off, began to gush with blood.

"Shit, Nate!" she said, dropping her vambrace and rummaging through her pack for some bandages. _So much for not cursing in front of a lady_, I thought wryly as she found what she was looking for and came to sit by me.

She held out her hand for mine and I shook my head, pulling away from her. "It's just a scratch, nothing to trouble yourself over." I wasn't about to be babied over something that was my own dumb fault.

"Shut up and let me see," she insisted. When I didn't immediately comply she rolled her eyes and leaned across me, grabbing my wrist and yanking it towards her a little harder than was absolutely necessary. I got the message and relaxed, letting her inspect the wound.

Once I stopped fighting her, she was surprisingly gentle, pressing a clean cloth to the cut to slow the bleeding. The sharp pain dulled to a light throbbing as she held it, and the thought crossed my mind that her fingers on mine were incredibly soft. I wondered how she managed to keep them from being calloused and rough when she spent so much time wielding blades, and was about to ask when I remembered the expensive looking gloves she always wore under her regular armor. I'd thought they were a simple vanity, something fancy for the queen to wear, but now I realized that their purpose was protection rather than decoration. It made me feel foolish for thinking her to be caught up in trivialities like looking pretty on the battlefield.

Then it dawned on me that I was actually about to ask her why her _hands were so soft_, and felt my face flush with embarrassment. She'd probably think I was flirting with her. I could image how that would go – me, the son of the man who killed her family, making a move on the Hero of Ferelden in the dead of night, while her husband, the _king_, was away.

Oh, Maker.

I scrambled for something to say to distract myself from the awkwardness of that thought. "So, um…what were you going to say before I decided that I hadn't shed enough blood this evening?"

She peeked under the cloth and, seeming to be satisfied with what she found, released my hand to dig through her pack again. I resisted the urge to lift up the cloth and look myself, assuming it would irritate her. "Oh…it was nothing important, just making conversation," she said dismissively.

"Well, it was apparently important enough to injure myself over…"

She shot me a quick glare, but it was missing the usual _I-hate-you _undertones. An improvement, I'd say. "I was just thinking about how my mother used to try to sell me on an arranged marriage," she said, slathering the cut with a cold paste. "In fact, she had been in talks with _your_ mother about it for months. From what I understand, if I hadn't found a suitable husband by the time you returned from the Free Marches, you and I were supposed to marry."

I could only stare at her for a moment in stunned disbelief, before my mouth finally took over in place of my brain. _"What?"_

She snickered, wiping the excess paste back into the jar. "Wow, thanks a lot."

"No…no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Just, that's…unexpected, is all."

Unexpected was an understatement. I could count on one hand the number of letters my mother sent while I was away, and in none of them did she even hint that she was trying to arrange a match for me. To Kaelyn Cousland of all people! When I was a child, Mother had made it abundantly clear that, as second-born and heir of nothing, I would be lucky to find even a minor bann's daughter – a teryn's was never an option. There were only two of them in the entire country after all, and Anora was already spoken for.

And besides that…it was _Kaye. _The girl I'd pined for since I was old enough to pine. The girl I got sent to the Free Marches over. The girl I had wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

The sudden realization that if circumstances had been just the tiniest bit different, I could have married that girl…it made my stomach churn. To think I was so close to happiness, only to have it fall through my fingers without even knowing it…

Kaye shrugged and began to wrap my hand in fresh bandages, tight enough to assure me that she'd done this many times before. "It couldn't be that surprising. Our parents were friends, and we're around the same age – and since your brother died, you were going to inherit the arling. To be honest, I think Mother was hoping I'd get Amaranthine since Fergus got Highever." She gave me a bittersweet smile. "I guess she got what she wanted…in an awful, roundabout sort of way."

It was the first time she'd spoken to me about her parents without an accusing edge in her voice, and I found that I almost missed it. It was easier to deal with her anger and hate than her sorrow. I couldn't believe how, despite everything, that little quiver in her voice could still make my insides twist into a knot.

"And far more," I said, eager to say anything to wipe that look off her face. "You're not only Arlessa of Amaranthine, but Queen of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, Slayer of the Archdemon…and about a dozen other titles."

"I'd give up every one of them to be able to catch fireflies with my nephew again."

My heart sunk. "I'm…"

"No. Don't say it," she interrupted, holding a hand up to stop me. "If you apologize, that means you accept part of the blame for what happened. And if you're even partially to blame, I'll have to kill you, Grey Warden or no."

I _did_ feel partially to blame for what had happened. How could I not? If I would have been there, maybe things would have been different. But then I realized that she might actually be serious, and I really wasn't up to a fight to the death tonight.

"Err…right. My condolences, then."

"Thank you. I honestly didn't feel like bloodying up my clothes again," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. Her whole face transformed when she smiled, until you couldn't help but return it. I never could, anyway.

"Mine too," she said after a moment. "Condolences, I mean." She glanced up at me through her eyelashes, bright green eyes flashing with some emotion I couldn't name. "I won't apologize for what I did, but…I know it's hard to lose a father."

My injured hand was still resting in hers, and she gave my fingers a gentle squeeze before letting go. She turned back to her cleaning, and I to my sharpening – but she didn't scoot away from me, and the silence had lost most of its tension. Things were not perfect between us, and they probably never would be...

But it was a start.


	4. Memories

"Why do you hate me so much?" Nathaniel asked between mouthfuls of cheese. Maker's breath, what was it with men and _cheese?_

"Why do you hate _me_ so much?" I snapped back, glaring at him from across the table.

"Because you killed my father," he said simply.

"And your father killed my entire family," I retorted, glancing towards the entrance to the tavern. Where were Oghren and Anders to save me with witty banter and lecherous innuendo when I needed them?

He just shrugged, completely dismissing their murder in one nonchalant gesture. My fingers clenched around my mug of ale, knuckles white with the effort it took to refrain from punching him in the face. "Maybe, but_ I_ didn't," he said.

"I know. That's the only reason you're still alive," I grumbled. "But that doesn't mean I have to like you."

The truth was, I wasn't entirely sure why I hated him. Sure, he'd tried to kill me, but most of my best friends have wanted to kill me at one time or another. That wasn't the issue. And he'd even made progress on the shitty attitude that drove me crazy. It was just…he was a _Howe._ I'd be dishonoring the memory of my family if I didn't hate a Howe – even one who had nothing to do with what happened.

And if I was really, truly honest with myself…I felt betrayed. Hurt, maybe. I could understand why he hated me – I probably even deserved it. But Nathaniel was the one person I thought never would. To think he could dismiss our past so completely, could actually make an attempt on my life…it hurt me.

It pissed me off that he was even able to get under my skin that way.

I thought back to the other night, when he'd cut his hand open like an idiot. He'd been…sincere, dropping all the antagonizing sarcasm he was so fond of and having a real conversation with me. He seemed genuinely sorry for how things ended up, even almost apologized for what his father did. I'd actually thought that maybe we'd be able to start putting things behind us and acting civil towards each other. Then the next day he'd said something bitter, and I'd gotten defensive and angry. Several days of nasty bickering later here we were.

It must be pretty bad if even _Oghren_ is avoiding the pub while we're in here together.

Nathaniel took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "You used to like me."

I opened my mouth to come back with something about how I _used_ to have a family, too – but I shut it before the words could form. His voice was quiet, contemplative…not the sarcastic drawl he used when he was trying to get a rise out of me. Besides, he was right – I _did_ like him, at one time.

"Yeah," I said. "You were the only one in your whole damn family who was any kind of nice to me."

"Delilah was nice to you."

"Delilah was nice to me in front of your parents. As soon as your mother's back was turned she either teased me or pretended I didn't exist." A memory came back to me, and I snorted with laughter. "I ripped out a handful of her hair once, for kicking my mabari pup."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, but the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. "_You_ did that? She blamed it on me."

"Why?"

"Because I pulled the arms off her favorite doll," he said, chuckling. "I got the switch for maiming the doll, then again for maiming Delilah."

"Sorry about that. And I apologize for any other incidents you may have taken the heat for. I have a long standing history of violence against the Howes, you know," I said with a smirk.

I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. I'd meant smacking Delilah and Thomas around when we were children, not my justice against their father. Still, I knew that's where Nathaniel's mind would immediately go, and I hated to drag the topic back up when we were finally starting to get along.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and I hurried to cover my misstep. "Like when your horrid older brother put me in that well. Do you remember? I gave him a black eye for his trouble."

Nathaniel's lips pursed, and I cursed myself for being a fool. Isaac – the horrid older brother – died shortly after Nathaniel left for the Free Marches. Bandits, if I remember correctly. Brilliant of me to bring up the murdered brother to take his mind off the murdered father.

I glanced away, not trusting myself to say anything further without making things worse. Nathaniel took a long drink, sighing as he lowered the mug to the table. "Isaac _was _pretty terrible," he conceded, motioning to the barmaid for another round. "And you didn't give him the black eye – I did."

I looked up in surprise, and to my great relief the corner of Nathaniel's mouth was turned up in a fraction of a smile. The smile broadened as he took in the look of disbelief on my face. "I believe that you hit him, but the black eye was from me. How do you think I got him to tell me where you were?"

"I didn't know you were looking for me."

The fresh mugs came and Nathaniel nodded before taking a drink. His cheeks were flushed with the alcohol, and I knew mine probably looked the same – this was our third round after all, and I could definitely feel it. "Of course I was looking for you. Did you think I just happened to randomly stumble upon you in an abandoned well a half-mile away?"

"I…never really thought about it," I admitted. "I was just happy you found me."

He snickered into his glass. "Yeah, I'll say, considering you nearly knocked me over when I finally got you out," he said, a boyish grin lighting up his face. It made him look ten years younger when he smiled like that – more like the playful teenager from my memories than the sullen, bitter man that he'd become.

I pursed my lips in mock offense. "Well, I certainly didn't hear you complaining at the time."

"Complain? I was seventeen years old and the prettiest girl I knew was flinging herself into my arms. What was there to complain about?"

This was nice. Simple. It was so easy to talk about the good old days – the days before he left, before betrayal, murder, and vengeance had torn us apart more surely than the miles between us had. The days when my only concerns were lessons and games and whether or not I would ever catch a man's eye.

Which apparently I had. Still, I was just tipsy enough that I needed to hear him say it. "You thought I was pretty?"

He gazed at me over the top of his mug, and his voice went abruptly serious. "I wouldn't have kissed you if I didn't think you were pretty."

-x-

_I was sixteen, three days before Nathaniel was to leave for the Free Marches to be gone for Andraste-knows-how-long. Fergus would be riding to Amaranthine in the morning to say goodbye to his friend, but though I'd spent the better part of the day pleading with my mother, I was forbidden to go with him. In fact, my begging had backfired – now Mother was so convinced that I was going to try to run off anyway that she'd locked me in my room for the remainder of the evening._

_Of course, she was right – I __**had **__planned on leaving during the night. It still __wasn't fair. I would be perfectly safe riding with Fergus – he was taking a half dozen knights with him after all – so there was no good reason to keep me home. Nathaniel was my friend too…it was cruel to deny me the chance to say goodbye when it could be years before I saw him again._

_I was curled up in the window seat, sulking, when a figure below caught my eye. A tall, dark-haired boy was waving his arms wildly through the air, trying to catch my attention. His face was shadowed but I knew who it was immediately, and a grin spread across my face as I unlatched the window._

"_Nate! What are you doing here?" I yelled down._

"_Shh! Do you want everyone to hear?" he called up in a hushed whisper, glancing around quickly. When no one came running he looked back up at me. "Jump down!"_

"_What? No! Are you crazy?" I hissed, leaning out to gauge the distance. My window was only two stories off the ground, but that was plenty high to break an ankle. Or my neck._

"_Come on Kaye, just do it. I'll catch you."_

_I bit my lip and considered it. I'd probably be okay, as long as he caught me, and if I made it out…_

"_Promise you won't drop me?" I asked, hating the way my voice betrayed my nerves._

"_I promise. Hurry up before someone comes!"_

_I crawled over to the edge of the window seat, letting my feet dangle over the side. Nathaniel stood just below me, arms outstretched, waiting for me to fall. I trusted him, but __**Maker**__ it looked like a long drop…_

"_Jump!"_

_I jumped._

_I had a fleeting moment to wish I'd reconsidered, before fear banished all rational thought and I was falling. But no sooner did I squeeze my eyes shut than I landed in Nathaniel's arms with a heavy thump. He caught me awkwardly, my right foot scraping along the ground as he stumbled to maintain his balance – but, true to his word, he didn't drop me. _

_I opened my eyes to find his face just inches from mine, grinning a devilish smile that made my heart involuntarily stutter. Nathaniel set me down gently, and with a final glance to make sure we weren't caught, snatched up my hand and led me towards the thick blanket of trees that wrapped around the northeastern side of the castle._

_He kept hold of my hand as we walked through the forest, leading me along a path so twisted I struggled to keep my sense of direction. Any inquiry I had about our destination was met only with a cryptic "You'll see". Normally that would have annoyed me, but his excitement was infectious. Coupled with the thrill of stealing away in the middle of the night and I was positively giddy, anxious to find out what the big surprise was._

_After a walk that was just long enough to make me wish I'd worn proper boots, Nathaniel paused at the edge of an especially thick thatch of foliage, tugging me back when I moved to enter. I looked up at him questioningly and he just smiled, obviously enjoying my curiosity._

"_Close your eyes," he said softly. I had never been this far into the forest before. There was a strange sound coming from the other side of the trees that I was just dying to investigate, but I dutifully closed them anyway. I felt his hands on my shoulders as he moved behind me, guiding me in the right direction, and then shivered as his warm breath trickled over my ear. "Don't peek."_

_We had taken about fifty steps, the strange noise growing louder, until finally he stopped. I ached to open my eyes but I held off until he told me, not wanting to spoil it for him. My breath caught in my throat as I felt his strong arms circle around my middle, his chest pressed lightly to my back. My mind raced – what was he doing? I mean, I __**liked**__ it, but he'd never done anything like this before. He'd never been so close…_

"_Okay…open your eyes."_

_For a moment all I could do was stare, blinking in uncertainty, until I realized what I was seeing. Water. It seemed to stretch on forever, miles and miles of dark water sparkling in the moonlight. There was a light fog rolling over the surface near the horizon, blurring the line between sea and sky, a perfect blanket of deep velvet blue encompassing every inch of my vision. Its enchanting beauty had me mesmerized…until with a gasp I realized why Nate had wrapped his arms around me._

_We were standing on the edge of a cliff. An __**enormous**__ cliff. I instinctively tried to take a step back, but he just held me tighter, his grip strong and reassuring. "It's okay," he murmured, "Relax. I've got you."_

_I took a deep breath and dragged my eyes away from the hundred meter death plunge in front of me to gaze across the water again. Soft waves tumbled and crashed into each other, crests glinting silver in the moonlight, like ripples on a mirror._

"_It's incredible," I breathed, awe-struck. I had never seen such a large body of water before. Bathed in moonlight, air heavy with moisture and the soft sound of waves lapping against the stone ridge, the scene before me was just…surreal._

"_I told you I'd take you to see the ocean," he said. "This isn't it, but it's pretty close. The Waking Sea. The Free Marches are on the other side."_

"_Where you'll be."_

"_Yes. I thought this would be a fitting place to say goodbye."_

_My heart clenched painfully on that last word, in a way I didn't fully understand. I'd known he was leaving for days now, so why did him saying goodbye make it so much more real? And why did it hurt so badly?_

"_Don't go Nate," I said, voice barely above a whisper. I couldn't manage any more volume around the lump in my throat._

"_I have to," he replied dismally, like this wasn't his choice. Like it was hurting him too._

_I latched onto that, turning around in his arms. If he didn't want to go either…_

_Sudden desperation bubbled up in me, born of the aching hole in my chest. "No, you don't. I have money, and horses, and…and we can leave," I said, voice growing more frantic with every word. "We can go to Denerim, or Redcliffe, or some tiny village in the Bannorn where they'll never find us, and…"_

_And then he kissed me._

_It was a chaste kiss, gentle and sweet, but with an edge of recklessness that stole my breath and made my heart sputter into double time. It lasted only a moment before he pulled back, eyes wide and apprehensive, like he couldn't believe he just did that. To be honest, neither could I. Time seemed to stand still in that moment, staring into his stormy grey eyes. They lit up when I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he pressed his lips to mine again._

_He kissed me like he'd been dying to kiss me for years, and who knows – maybe he had. Maybe__** I**__ had. It was new and thrilling but still so comfortably familiar, like we were meant to do this, like we were made for each other. He tasted like honeyed apples and something indescribably male, and I found myself getting lost in the feel of his lips moving against mine. My nerves were on fire, my blood was scorching through my veins, I was lightheaded and dizzy and it seemed to last forever but never long enough._

_All too soon he pulled away, resting his forehead against mine as we gasped for air. I tried to make sense of the emotions flooding through me, but in the end I couldn't. Not only did I not understand what I was feeling, but I didn't even fully understand myself anymore. I felt like a different girl. No, not a girl – a woman. My lips were swollen and bruised, my skin flushed and tingling, my eyelids heavy…and I knew at that moment nothing would ever be the same. That I would never be the same._

_I ran my hand up Nathaniel's cheek until my fingers knotted in his hair, and a strange, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I leaned up to kiss him again._

_Hours later we sat on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling precariously as the sky began to lighten with the first hint that dawn was approaching. We should have left a long time ago, but neither of us felt inclined to go when being here was so much better than what awaited us back home. Nathaniel's arm was around me, fingers tracing a slow line up and down my side as I leaned against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart._

_I felt him sigh before I heard it, and my stomach clenched in response. I knew that meant our time was up, and I had to try one more time, even though deep down I knew it was a futile effort._

"_Stay with me?" I pleaded._

_Nathaniel clutched me tightly, burying his face in my hair. "I want to…but I can't," he whispered, and the emotion in his voice kept me from arguing further. It sounded like his heart was breaking. I knew mine was._

_He cupped my cheek in his hand and kissed me, one last time. It was bittersweet, full of sorrow and longing and a thousand things left unspoken, and I couldn't help the silent tear that ran down my cheek when it ended._

_His eyes went soft. "Hey…don't do that," he said, brushing the droplet away with a gentle thumb. I closed my eyes to fight back the next wave that threatened to spill over, and I felt him press his lips to my forehead._

"_Look," he said after a moment, and when I opened my eyes he nodded out towards the water. "I'll be right over there. So if you're ever feeling lonely, come back here and look out across the sea…and know that I'll be on the other side, staring back."_

_I nodded, swallowing the painful lump that had built up in my throat. "Promise you'll come back?"_

_His eyes burned into mine with surprising intensity. "I promise."_

-x-

I blinked until my mind was back in the tavern, sitting across from that very same man – but yet he was so very different. He'd grown out his hair and gained about 20 pounds of muscle since then, but it was his eyes that were the most changed. The stormy eyes I looked into now were pinched on the edges with years of stress, that youthful innocence chased away by the things he'd seen.

Did I look just as different from the girl he remembered?

I shook my head to clear the ghost of the memory and drained the rest of my ale, annoyed at the way my heart had sped up. Maker, I was pathetic.

"I can't believe you remember that," I said, trying for flippant. Like I didn't remember it as clear as yesterday.

"How could I forget?" he asked, those smoldering grey eyes trapping mine just as easily as they had that night so many years ago. Finally he glanced away, flagging the waitress for more drinks, and I mentally scolded myself for letting him have that effect on me. I was a grown woman, for Andraste's sake, not some lovesick teenager.

"Oh, I don't know," I started, a teasing edge in my voice. It was fake, but I was noble – I was good at faking it. "I'm sure there were plenty of lovely ladies in the Free Marches just dying for the chance to make you forget your own name."

He shrugged, still not meeting my gaze. "Maybe. I didn't notice. Too busy staring across the Waking Sea."

My breath caught in my throat as I struggled to find something, anything, to say…but what can you say to something like _that?_

"Well well, looks like they got the party started without us, eh mage?" a gruff voice said from behind me.

I barely contained my sigh of relief at the sudden interruption. Thank the Maker for loud-mouthed dwarves.


	5. Confessions

I was an idiot. What kind of sane man tries to out-drink a dwarf? None, that's what. Even Anders had given up at some point between the ale and the whiskey – and when the mage with no common sense drops out, it's a good sign that you should too.

But Oghren, that sneaky bastard, he knew what he was doing. He kept me in the game, taunting me with quips about how he's half my size, how dwarven children can chug faster than me, how he'd seen _Kaye _pound them harder than that, and still fight a dragon in the morning…

"_Really? A dragon, before noon?"_

_I'd been joking of course, but his face was dead serious. "You bet yer pasty white ass a dragon before noon. Well, it was really a witch that turned into a dragon. But you know what they say – if it looks like a dragon, smells like a dragon, and can bite yer sodding head off…"_

"_But…how?"_

"_Ha! You wouldn't expect it of such a pretty young thing, that's for sure, but by the stone that woman is terrifying when she wants to be. A bloodthirsty sodding maniac. It's always the innocent lookin' ones you gotta watch out for..."_

"_No, no..." I interrupted. "I mean, how did she kill a __**dragon**__?"_

"_Did you miss the part about her being a bloodthirsty maniac?" he snorted. "But if you want the details, well, the witch had knocked me back a good twenty feet right at the end there, and I saw everything." He settled back in his chair, mug in hand, taking on the air of a storyteller I once met in the Free Marches. _

"_It had been a long fight, and we were all getting tired. Neria was chugging lyrium potions like they were two bits a bottle, but she was running out of juice fast. That over-protective bastard Alistair was hovering over her like a mama nug on her litter, but he was making stupid mistakes. So was I – that's how I got tossed. It wasn't looking good for us, and I couldn't believe that after everything I'd been through, a __**witch**_ _was going to be the one to take me out. I'm a dwarf, for ancestor's sake!_

"_Then, out of nowhere, our girl Kaye decides she's going to just charge the dragon head on. No shield, no magic, nothing – just two blades and the biggest sodding pair of stones I've ever seen. The dragon lunged at her, and I would have bet my beard that it was going to bite her in half…but just before its jaws could clamp down on her, she disappeared. Moved faster than lightning, and before that beast knew what had hit it, she stuck those daggers of hers right into the side of its neck and hoisted herself up like it was a circus bronto. It roared and thrashed but that crazy woman just held on, and the second it stilled enough to let go she drove her blade right down through its sodding head. Ha!"_

I couldn't believe that was how it had really happened. She _climbed_ a_ dragon_? Come on – he had to be embellishing, I'd said. So as we drank, Oghren proceeded to regale me with tales of other great battles they'd shared, each more unbelievable than the last. Werewolves, demons, assassins, blood mages, _another_ dragon…and, of course, the Archdemon. I listened with rapt attention, all the while trying to wrap my mind around the fact that the brave, determined, fearless woman in the stories was _Kaye._

It had been easy to think of her as a traitor – after all, any coward can be a traitor – but every account I'd heard since coming back to Ferelden had painted her as a hero, and Oghren's tales were just reinforcing that notion. That she was someone who risked her neck for others time and time again, someone strong and inspiring and unbelievably talented. A leader of men, unrivaled. How could the shy, stubborn, naïve girl I grew up with turn into someone like _that?_ I had missed so much…

It got me thinking about that girl. The Kaye that I'd known. The skinny little kid with messy hair and an easy smile. She'd always been a bit of a tomboy, coming home with muddy dresses so often that her mother finally stopped making her wear them outside of dinner. Fergus would always let her tag along on whatever adventure we decided to go on, which had annoyed me at first – after all, she was a _girl_. My experience with girls to that point was limited to tea parties, dress up, and the gossipy brats Delilah associated with. I quickly found that Kaye wasn't like that – she was clever and witty, and no matter what we did she always kept up. She was so much fun to be around that it was easy to forget she was a girl.

Until the summer I turned seventeen, and then it was impossible to see her as anything but a girl ever again. Kaye grew into a woman right in front of my eyes that summer – and Maker, she was _gorgeous. _I found myself going to Highever more and more often just to see her smile, to gaze into those sparkling green eyes. While Fergus started spending most of his time with Oriana, I spent mine with Kaye – talking, laughing, learning all the little things about each other that we didn't know before.

And I fell in love with her.

Which is why I found myself standing in front of her room in the middle of the night nearly a decade later. Because in my drunken haze, part of me needed her to know that I loved her. That I wished I would have said so that night by the sea. That I always regretted not running away with her when she asked me to. That every single night I spent in the Free Marches, I thought about her.

But standing there with my fist raised to knock on the door – I knew I couldn't. I was drunk and I wouldn't say it right. And it wouldn't matter if I could, because she hated me. And I hated her. Didn't I? I was supposed to…

I was an idiot for even coming here.

"Don't even try it, Nathaniel my man," a voice slurred from down the hall. I glanced over to find Anders sauntering – or was that stumbling? – towards me, a sloppy grin on his face. "Don't even bother with _her_."

I paled. How did he…

"Our _illustrious leader _doesn't slum it with guys like you and me. Not with that handsome king of hers waiting at home," he drawled, slapping me on the back. His grin widened, "I swear though, King Alistair looks _just like me._ Maybe if I cut my hair…"

"Anders!" a voice yelled from inside. Both of us froze, looking from the door to each other with guilty expressions. We were so busted.

Angry, stomping footsteps started moving towards the door, and Anders regained his composure. He turned and bolted, robes whipping behind him as he made a run for it. Leaving me holding the bag. What a pal.

"I've told you three times already, I'm not sleeping with…" The door swung open. "…you…" Kaye finished, drawing the word out in surprise. She blinked twice, and I tried to smile, but it came out as more of a cringe. Her eyes narrowed – in annoyance or confusion, I couldn't tell.

"Nate, what are you doing here?"

"Erm, I uh…" I stammered, slogging through my booze-addled brain for anything that sounded feasible. "I thought…I heard a noise. Right, and I um…wanted to come check. On you. In case of…assassins, or something…"

She raised one eyebrow in amused disbelief, and I grimaced. _Assassins, really? That was the best I could come up with?_

"So the man who unabashedly tried to assassinate me just a few weeks ago came to check up on me in the middle of the night, in case of _assassins_?"

"Um…yes?"

"Uh huh. Well…" she looked around her room pointedly, "They're either extraordinarily stealthy assassins, or far more likely, imaginary ones. Did you need anything else?"

"No, I'm…" I began, already turning to leave when something caught my eye. An enchanted silverite pendant hung from a thin chain around her neck, the soft glow of the rune lighting up the hollow of her throat. I found myself reaching for it before I could think better of it. She stiffened when my fingers brushed her collarbone, but she didn't pull away, and I stepped closer to get a better look.

"You kept this?" I said softly, rubbing my thumb along the tear-shaped charm. I had made it for her sixteenth birthday, paying the local jeweler for lessons in how to work the metal myself. It had taken three weeks to craft, and all the money I had to have it enchanted…but seeing the way her face lit up when I gave it to her had been worth it.

I couldn't believe she still had it after all these years. And all that's happened since…

"Of course I kept it. It's beautiful," she said, dropping her eyes to where I still held the charm. "And it was all I had to remember you by."

Maybe it was the ale, or the wistful way she'd spoken those last words. Maybe it was how close she was, or how the necklace was still warm from her skin, or that I'd been thinking about her, and our past, for the better part of the evening. Maybe it was that her eyes, looking up at me from under dark lashes, sparkled brighter than this charm ever could, or maybe…maybe I just needed this, needed her, for so long that I couldn't do anything else.

Whatever the reason, I kissed her. And after a heart-clenching moment of stillness, she kissed me back.

This kiss was different than the ones we'd shared so long ago – but then again, so were we. That naïve innocence was replaced with something darker, something hungrier, something desperate…and neither of us were gentle. I pushed her up against the door frame, but even as I pinned her in place her fingers were knotted in my hair, pulling me closer, trapping me just as surely as she was. Her mouth was demanding, devouring mine in an assault of lips and teeth that bordered on violent. The kiss only broke when her hands found the bottom of my tunic, yanking it over my head and dropping it unceremoniously at our feet.

Her hands splayed across my bare chest as I pressed hot, clumsy kisses down her throat. A possessive growl escaped me when she drew her nails over my skin, and I bit down on the sensitive flesh, taken by an animal need to mark her in return. To make her mine.

She gasped, a throaty little noise that went straight to my groin. I bunched up her shift and pulled it off in one swift motion, my eyes drinking in the gorgeous curves and soft skin underneath. Her cheeks flushed, either from the alcohol or my leering, and before I could register what that meant she claimed my mouth again, pressing the length of her body against my own.

My hands moved of their own accord, running up her belly to cup her breasts as my lips trailed down to her nipple. She threw her head back in pleasure, a delicious moan escaping her lips as I sucked her nipple greedily, her nails digging in to my shoulders. I reveled in the way her body reacted to my inelegent touch, the graceful arch of her back, the soft mewling sounds I was wrenching from her.

Long held desire blazed through me, nearly bringing me to my knees. I had to be inside her. Now.

I slid a hand down her hip and grabbed her thigh, hitching it up to press myself more firmly against her. She wrapped the leg around me and pulled me closer, grinding her heat against the bulge in my breeches. I pulled back an inch, just far enough to undo the laces, and she whined in protest.

"I need you," she whispered against my ear, voice husky with desire.

Those three words broke through the fog of ale and lust, brought a sliver of clarity jolting into my brain. And with it came the stark realization that I was seconds away from...

I dragged my lips away from her skin and took a shaky step backwards, my breath coming hard and fast. "I..."

She stared at me through half-lidded eyes, then the corner of her mouth turned up and she reached down to fumble at my laces. "I'll get it," she murmured, rubbing her palm along my straining manhood in a silent promise of things to come.

I bit back a groan and pushed her hands away. "Stop," I said, backing up quickly. Her eyebrows knotted in confusion, and I fought for the words to explain. To make her understand that I wanted her, more than anything...but not like this. That she was worth more to me than a rough, drunken tumble. That I wasn't going to take advantage of her, no matter how badly I wanted to.

"I...I can't," was all I managed to spit out. She opened her mouth to say something, but an overwhelming shame hit me then, and like a coward I turned to the door and fled.

I half-ran back to my room, not looking back to see if she'd followed. Somehow I didn't think she would. The moment the door closed behind me I collapsed against it, trying to get my heart under control before it burst out of my chest.

What was I thinking, touching her, kissing her, pulling her clothes off? I shouldn't have even gone to her room in the first place – what was I planning to do, brilliantly confess my undying love for her? And what, expect her to say the same? She only responded to my sloppy overtures because she was drunk. And then I had to go and leave, without even explaining why. Maker knows what she thinks of me now – what she'll think of me in the morning.

I slammed my fist into the wall, then collapsed on the bed in a fit of self-loathing.

_Congratulations Nathaniel, you're a fucking idiot._


	6. Reunion

I woke up this morning, naked, with my face buried in a woman's bosom. By all accounts that was how I preferred to wake up, and I was fully prepared to start my day off right by having a go with whatever saucy temptress I'd managed to seduce last night.

That is, until I got a good look at her face, at which point "Little Anders" tried to crawl up into my body and hide in terror.

Now, I'm not exactly a picky man – you can't be, growing up in a tower with only a handful of girls your age – but I do like to follow a few general rules when selecting women to sleep with. One being that they have less facial hair than I do, and two being that they have most of their teeth. My latest conquest failed both checks.

I was never drinking dwarven ale again.

After a scalding bath and a quick prayer that I didn't catch anything itchy or burny off of that ghastly excuse for a female, I made my way downstairs, hoping to find Kaye at the bar. I'd burned through the coin she'd given me last night, and I needed more to buy something to eat. Greasy tavern food and a cup of strong coffee was just the cure for the wicked hangover slamming through me.

Sure enough, Kaye was there, slumped over a table with a plate of sausage and fried potatoes untouched before her. She grunted a greeting as I slid in the seat across from her, and shoved the food towards me like the very sight of it was offensive.

"Nausea winning out over Starving-Warden-Syndrome?" I asked, diving in without hesitation. She rolled her eyes up to glare at me before abruptly turning her head and vomiting into a chamberpot on the bench beside her.

"Dwarven ale is a bitch," I said between bites, throwing her a sympathetic look. "I'd offer to help, but magic can't fight a hangover. Just keep puking, you'll feel better."

"Shut up, Anders."

I grinned and polished off the rest of her meal. Oh, the advantages of having a strong stomach.

After about twenty minutes, another bout of nausea, and two more plates of amazingly greasy breakfast, Nathaniel stumbled down the stairs looking worse than Kaye did – which was saying something, considering she looked like a walking corpse.

Actually, I take that back. Wouldn't want to offend Justice with such a comparison.

Nate took a seat next to me, wisely avoiding the spray zone of Princess Pukey over there, and started munching absently on the scraps of meat and potato that had somehow escaped my ravenous maw. And that's when things got weird.

Kaye finally lifted her head out of the pot she'd been thoroughly abusing all morning, wiping her mouth on her shirtsleeve. I smirked, ready to comment on how very ladylike our Queen could be at times, when she glanced up – and the expression that flitted across her face made my words die in my throat. She looked...nervous.

Kaye was _never_ nervous. I whirled my head around, expecting to find some kind of imminent danger stalking behind me – or at least something creepy, like a clown or a ghost or a tall dwarf. But there was nothing there besides a battered old lute and an abandoned wash bucket, neither of which should be a cause for alarm. I turned back to her thinking maybe I'd imagined it, but sure enough her eyes were wide, expression crossed somewhere between apprehensive and mildly terrified. So I followed her gaze...to _Nathaniel_, who strangely enough was staring at her the exact same way.

What in Andraste's name was going on here?

I was about to say something to break the strange trance my companions seemed to be in when Oghren came bounding down the steps, looking surprisingly chipper considering the amount of alcohol he'd consumed the night before. Well, as chipper as Oghren ever was, anyway. Come to think of it, I suspected he was probably just still drunk.

The dwarf plopped down next to Kaye, dangerously close to knocking over her spew-bucket. He grinned, seemingly oblivious to the odd tension that had suddenly cropped up at the table. "Hey! Barmaid! Can a man get a sodding pint around here?" he bellowed.

Kaye's eyes went impossibly wide at the word "pint", and as soon as the mug hit the table her head was back in that pot. I couldn't believe she had anything left in her. It was actually rather impressive, truth be told.

Oghren snickered and took a long drink. "Lightweights."

"We can't all be as hardcore as you Oghren," Nathaniel said, still eyeing Kaye warily.

"I've yet to find a man who is," he agreed, a drop of ale falling from his beard. "Especially since coming topside. You humans just can't handle dwarven swill."

"Because it tastes like rat piss and melts your intestines?" I quipped.

"No, it's because you're all skirt-wearing, pony-riding little girls. No offense Kaye," he amended, "you and your brother are exceptions."

"You know Fergus?" Nathanial asked, reaching across the table for Kaye's mug of hot cider. Well, it _was_ hot. More like tepid cider now.

"'Course I know him. Shared a round with him last night, after you wimped out on me."

Kaye's head popped up suddenly at that, and Nathanial sputtered and choked on the cider he'd been sipping.

"Fergus is here?" Kaye asked, excitement temporarily overcoming her desire to purge everything she'd ever eaten.

"Aye. Showed up near dawn, lookin' for you. Told him he'd be better off getting a room and waiting, 'cause you're sodding impossible to wake up after a few pints."

Kaye jumped up and ran to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. She paused halfway up, then leaned over the railing and called down, "What room?"

"Last one on the left," Oghren said, wiping foam from his beard.

We all watched as Kaye rushed up the rest of the stairs and disappeared down the hall. When she was fully out of sight, Oghren turned to Nathaniel, a shit-eating grin on his face. "You know, Fergus Cousland said you wouldn't have the stones to show your face again."

Nathaniel looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Did you tell him I was here?" he asked, trying to sound disaffected – and failing.

"Nope," Oghren replied, popping the P sound with relish. "Didn't wanna ruin the show."

"Great," Nathaniel muttered, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Curiosity got the better of me. "What show?" I asked.

Oghren raised an eyebrow at me, like he couldn't believe how clueless I was. Coming from Oghren, that was doubly insulting.

"Papa Howe didn't just murder Kaye's parents, you know. He cut down the whole family – Fergus's wife and child with them. And if you thought Kaye was pissed about it, wait 'til you get a load of Fergus."

I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. A show, eh? I could get on board with that. Didn't really feel like fighting darkspawn today, anyway.

-x-

It was a while before Kaye came back down. Long enough for Oghren to run out of coin, and try to put his ale on the Warden's tab. When the barmaid explained that the Wardens didn't have a tab, he tried pledging the Crown's gold.

"King Alistair is a close personal friend of mine," he insisted, trying to sound persuasive. It might have actually worked if he wouldn't have hiccupped midway through, prompting the barmaid to roll her eyes at him.

"I'm sure he is, sir."

"Blast it woman! The Queen is right upstairs! You don't recognize the Hero of Ferelden when you see her?" he bellowed, slamming his fist down on the table. The crash woke up Nathaniel, who had dozed off with his head on his arms. He groaned and sat up, muttering curses under his breath as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Lay off her Oghren. Kaye told them last night not to front you any drinks on credit," I lied smoothly, winking at the barmaid. She smiled appreciatively, a delicate blush spreading across her cheeks as she turned back to her work.

Hmm…interesting reaction. I let my gaze wander over her body - she wasn't bad looking, as far as bar wenches went. Maybe I could make up for last night's epic failure…

"Aww, what'd she have to go and do that for?" Oghren grumbled, defeated.

"Probably so you didn't drink the country into debt," Nate interjected, playing along with the lie. I glanced over to him and he smirked, clearly on to my plan to bluff my way into the girl's smallclothes. I was about to unleash my charms on the unsuspecting damsel when something caught my eye.

"What is that?" I asked, nodding to the bit of jewelry around Nathaniel's neck. His eyebrows drew together in confusion as he glanced down at his chest, before he realized what I was looking at and immediately stuffed the necklace under his shirt.

"It's nothing," he said, a little too quickly.

"Uh huh. That's a very shiny nothing you've got there."

He narrowed his eyes. "Drop it, Anders."

"Oh c'mon Nate. Haven't you heard? No secrets among Wardens," I pressed. I didn't care about the necklace, really – I had just never seen it before. But now that he felt the need to hide it, the curiosity was increased tenfold.

He nodded towards the bar. "Let it go, or I'll tell her you have the pox," he threatened.

"You're no fun at all."

I smoothed my hair back and stood, debating which pick-up line to open with, when Kaye decided to come back down the stairs. I opened my mouth to make a snarky comment about her impeccably bad timing, but shut it again as soon as I saw that she had her Commander face on.

Shit. That face always meant trouble.

I glanced to the men following her, surprised at how few there were. The one in front had to be Fergus – I could have pegged them as siblings without a second glance. They didn't look the same, necessarily – his eyes were darker, his features more pronounced – but they both carried themselves with the same smooth confidence and deadly grace. Two men trailed him, soldiers or knights – I could never tell the difference. It seemed a shockingly small guard for a man as politically important as the Teryn of Highever.

Then again, I suppose the Queen's "guard" consisted of an assassin, an apostate, and a drunkard. Ferelden clearly wasn't too concerned with keeping its nobility safe.

Nathaniel, to his credit, kept a neutral face as the party made their way to our table. You could feel the tension build in the air though, feel the anger pouring from Fergus in waves. Oghren sat up, an excited grin spreading across his face as he looked from Fergus to Nathaniel and back.

"Hey-a Fergus," he drawled. "All kinds of reunions today, huh?"

"Enough, Oghren!" Kaye snapped, shooting him a glare.

"My sister told me you were here," Fergus said, his eyes intently on Nathaniel. "Smart move, joining the Wardens. Dying in battle against the darkspawn is the only way a man with such a filthy name can find respect."

Nate's eyes narrowed. "I don't intend to be killed by darkspawn – and I am not ashamed of my name."

"_Personal feelings aside," _Kaye cut in, taking a step between the two men glaring angrily at each other, "Fergus has brought reports of darkspawn sightings near Highever. Amaranthine has been fairly quiet the past few weeks, so we think the bulk may have moved west. I'm sending word to the Seneschal – we ride for Highever immediately."

"By _we, _you mean...all of us?" I asked hesitantly.

Kaye turned to me, a curious look on her face. "I mean the three of you, Fergus, and myself. Sigrun and Justice will stay in Amaranthine as a precaution, of course."

"Of course. Uh, Commander...not to shirk my Wardenly duties or anything, but would it be possible for me to stay back as well? Horses and I have a..._touchy _relationship. As in, they throw me off every hundred paces."

Oghren let out that...choking-giggle-belch noise he so often made, looking at me with what could only be described as ironic disdain. "You mean to tell me that with all that leg of yours, you can't manage to stay on a horse?"

"You mean to tell me with your stumpy little toddler legs you can?" I retorted.

"Pah, course I can! Riding a horse is nothin' compared to riding Branka. Mounting that woman was like trying to straddle a sodding Archdemon."

The corner of Kaye's mouth twitched in amusement, despite her clear effort not to laugh. Great – first horses, then a blow to the ego. "Sorry Anders, you're our only mage. I need you."

"I've dreamt of you saying those words many times, my lady, though I can't help but be disappointed in this particular context..."

Kaye traded the pseudo-smile for a full-on grin, even as Fergus raised an eyebrow. Making the boss happy was all well and good, but I cringed at the thought of spending the next day or two astride a foul-smelling, temperamental beast. It was times like this I really wish Kaye would have recruited that Dalish woman we found in the Wending Wood. I mean, she was a bitch, but at least then I wouldn't be the only mage.

I sighed and went to gather my things. Looks like I was fighting darkspawn today after all.


End file.
